50 Shades of Magic
by Marie E. Brooke
Summary: 10 completely random drabbles, the first 3 being connected. 9/10 [warning: some of these are deathly boring.]
1. Her Mind (first in three)

**A/N: Every single drabble here will be exactly 100 words. Or, if not, it will end in two zeros, and no more than 500 words. The first, second and third drabbles are Dramione, and they each follow through a passage of Hermione's life. :D Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: No. Never. Nada. Zip. Zero. Bye. Read this. Please. ;)**

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I - Her mind

[Dramione - 1/3]

_for Audrey_

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Hermione knows Malfoy is bad.

_Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, _her mind tells her urgently, _bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. He called you a _mudblood_. A mudblood. Bad, bad, bad._

She knows he's bad - her mind is persistent in reminding her about that - and that he has done dreadful things to her and he's a _Slytherin, _and all this wrongness overwhelms her and haunts her when she is sleeping at night.

It's her mind - the one that whispers that Malfoy is _bad, bad, bad _\- that she listens to when she gazes at Malfoy's hatred-filled face.

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**Word Count: 100**

**A/N: So...this is the first drabble. Thank you for reading, and as always, review! :3**

_**CONTESTS/CHALLENGES:**_

**[Short Haul Competition] Week 1 - Write a chapter under 1500 words.**

**[Build-A-Bear Challenge] ** **Minimal Stuffing - Write a story of ****_up to 500_ _words._**

**[The Lolita Challenge] Excentrique – Write about traditions.**

**[Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge] Hyperion – Write about Hermione Granger. Alt; write about intelligence.**

**[*2015* New Years Millionaire Fanfiction Resolutions Competition] Write in the Golden Trio Era - _earns $50.00_**


	2. Her Eyes (second in three)

**Disclaimer: I wish. **

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II - Her Eyes

[Pairing - Dramione 2/3]

_for Kris_

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It's after the war when Hermione starts to think differently.

She starts to notice things that she hadn't noticed about Draco before: his high cheekbones, his steely grey eyes, and the way he never fails to make her blush - that is by far the most irritating development.

He's no longer the immature boy who tormented her, Hermione realizes. He's grown into a handsome man, and now it's her eyes - the ones that stare at him everyday and positively _scream _for more - that she listens to when she's pressed up against a wall with his lips on hers.

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**Word Count: 100**

**A/N: R&amp;R, please! I really love this story. :D**

**CONTESTS/CHALLENGES:**

**[The Short Haul Competition] Write a chapter of less than 1500 words**

**[Build-A-Bear Challenge] Inserting the heart - Write a fluff fanfic.**

**[Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge] Thea - Write about somebody noticing somebody else's beauty.**

**[Challenge Ticketing Challenge] Challenges - 4/3**


	3. Her Heart (third in three)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I won't ever own it anyways. **

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III - Her Heart

[Pairing - Dramione 3/3]

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They've been dating for two years, but Hermione's loved him longer than that.

But she keeps quiet for those years; after all, it's not sensible to profess your undying love to a certified player, even if he's managed to date you for two years.

But one day - a day when the sky is a beautiful rich blue that is dotted by little spools of white clouds - the secret bottled up inside her chest is threatening to burst and she just _has _to tell him.

They take a long stroll through his large garden, him pointing out exotic plants and her nodding along, trying to keep her calm facade intact but inside she _needs _to tell him because she really doesn't care if it's unrequited at this point.

Before she can say anything, however, Draco slips something into her hand. It's a small, velvet box which Hermione opens.

Inside is a breathtaking diamond ring.

Hermione stares at it, speechless, for a few seconds before breaking out into a wide smile and throwing her arms around Draco.

And as she kisses him, her heart _pulses _with energy and happiness and she's floating.

It's her heart that Hermione's listening to now.

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**Word Count: 200**

**CONTESTS/CHALLENGES:**

**[Short Haul Competition] Write a chapter under 1500 words**

**[Build-A-Bear Challenge] Choosing your outfit - Hermione Granger (Preppy)**

**[Challenge Ticking Challenge] Challenges - 3/3**


	4. Full Moon

**A/N: *claps* Way to ruin the mood, Brooke. It's Valentine's Day, so you post Remus-centric angst. Anyways, enjoy! I hope you like this little ficlet I made. :) (I borrowed the term "ficlet" from Kris. Hope you don't mind. ;)**

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**~Full Moon~**

_**by Brooke**_

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Full moon cast brighter-than-bright pearl beams on the soft grass that always seemed to make the night fuller and more joyous. Full moon brought the shy creatures of the forest to creep softly into the meadow and dance about in their full glory. Full moon was tinkling laughs and a time of pure innocence.

Full moon also created horror and destruction, like it did when it didn't bring peaceful animals out of the forest's murky depths, but instead shone its brighter-than-bright beams down on a monstrous creature whose jaws dripped with saliva, and had dark eyes with a sliver of yellow.

Full moon later brought him excruciating pain that made him want to gouge out his own eyeballs; his whole body tried to stretch itself, his bones melted and splintered into pieces and his own mind was lost to the monster that lay deep within it.

Full moon was always followed by hours of staring at whitewashed walls and a stinging whiff of medicine that made him sneeze. Full moon gave people a chance to prod at him with needles and make him drink strange, bubbling concoctions emitting putrid fumes.

Full moon later turned into heaps of excuses and sneaking around to the Shrieking Shack. Full moon made him lie to his friends, made him see the skeptical looks and badly concealed hurt on their faces, as if they were saying to him, _Why don't you trust us? Why are you doing this to us? _Full moon made him watch it.

(Full moon made him a monster.)

But full moon also led to the discovery of the very secret that caused him so much pain, that he thought would cause him even more. It didn't, and instead brought comfort and the strengthening of the bond between the four friends.

Full moon was innocence and laughter and bliss; full moon was pain and sorrow and destruction.

Full moon was so much more than brighter-than-bright beams of pearl moonlight.

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**A/N: Please review! :D**

**CONTESTS/CHALLENGES:**

**[The Game of Life Challenge] Prompts: Pearl, Shrieking Shack**

**[Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge] Two of Spades - Write about a teacher**

**[Challenge Ticketing Challenge] Challenges - 2/3**


	5. Mirror

**A/N: Typical Lucius. BWAHAHAHAHA. This is about his narcissistic habits. XD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP. *teardrop***

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**_Mirror_**

**_by Brooke_**

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Lucius stared at the face in the mirror, admiring the way its white-blond hair was neatly combed back, its chiseled jawline and the stubble that dotted its chin.

Oh, he forgot. The face in the mirror was him.

He crooned at his reflection. His reflection crooned back at him. He blew a kiss at the mirror; his reflection mimicked the movements. Lucius closed his eyes, thinking of the way that his reflection's cherry lips were puckered enticingly - and opened his eyes quickly, not bearing to be apart from his beautiful reflection for such a long period of time.

His fingers gently grazed the mirror. He yearned to close the space between himself and the man in the mirror and reach through the glass and stroke his cheek with his thumb. He let his finger travel down the mirror so it now rested on the man's violet bowtie.

But alas, that was not to be. He was trapped from his true love by a thin sheet of glass. He had to be content with simply staring at the beautiful face in the mirror. He was unable to let go of the image of that face, that jawbone, that neatly combed blonde hair and steely grey eyes.

If only he could just reach through that mirror.

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Review, please! :D Sorry if the challenge info was a bit disorganized.**

**CONTESTS/CHALLENGES:**

**[Game of Life Challenge] Prompts: space, violet, and 500 words. (The underlined ones are the ones I used.)\\\**

**[Dominoes Challenge] Write Lucius/Lucius**

**[Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge] Ten of Hearts - Write about outer beauty**

**[Build-A-Bear Challenge] Birth Certificate - Write about a ministry official**

**[Disney Character Challenge] Hans of the Southern Isles - Write about Lucius Malfoy**

**[Challenge Ticketing Challenge] Challenges: 5 **

**[Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge] Aphrodite - Write about somebody who loves themselves**


	6. Of Twins and Exams

**A/N: **_**Lorcan gets a bad grade on his History of Magic O.W.L. **_**This is just some twin-ish next gen-ish fluffy-ish drabble-ish drabble concerning the next gen twins: Lorcan and Lysander Scamander. Enjoy! #tenminuterush**

**Disclaimer: I wish.**

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**_Of Exams and Twins_**

_by Brooke_

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Lorcan Scamander stared at the piece of parchment in his lap in pure horror; his O.W.L. grades, to be more exact. They had just arrived recently, held by a tawny owl that was undoubtedly one of the school owls, and he had tore open the Hogwarts seal eagerly, scanning it happily before suddenly recoiling in shock.

Lysander strolled into the kitchen. "Guess what I got on the - " he started, proudly flaunting his grades, and did a double-take, seeing Lorcan staring dejectedly at his paper. "Hey, what happened?" he asked, sliding up to him.

Lorcan wordlessly handed him the leaf of parchment, still in shock and unable to talk. Lysander peered at it for a moment before asking, "Were you cheating?"

Lorcan shot him a disbelieving look. "_Honestly, _Lysander; I just failed my History of Magic O.W.L!" he told him angrily. "How dumb can you get?"

"What?" said Lysander innocently. "I'm just trying to cover all the possibilities."

Lorcan made a noise in the back of his throat. "_Cover all the possibilities?" _scoffed Lorcan. "Yeah, right. It's a wonder you're even in Ravenclaw," he added scornfully.

"That's a lot of talk coming from the guy who failed his O.W.L," he quipped.

He only grunted in response, turning his gaze to his paper. _I studied, reviewed, studied again…_he thought despairingly.

Meanwhile, Lysander was still listing possibilities as to why Lorcan failed his O.W.L. "Maybe you fell asleep in class?" he mused. "It's a possibility...Binn's classes _are _really boring...or maybe you were lazy. That's plausible. You're the epitome of lazy. Your middle name should - "

Lorcan exploded. "Will you just shut it for a moment?" he snapped viciously. "You aren't helping."

Lysander sobered, his expression transforming into a serious one. There were a few moments of painstaking silence.

Lorcan scoffed and turned away; if Lysander was going to be a git, then so be it. He didn't need anybody's help to dwell on his sorrow, anyways.

Suddenly, he felt two warm arms wrap around him. "Nobody ever bothered to try at History of Magic, anyways," mumbled Lysander. "Here - look." Lysander handed him his O.W.L. grades, which Lorcan took with interest.

"You got…" started Lorcan, scanning the paper for the grade, "Exceeds Expectations? How's that supposed to make me feel better?"

Lysander grinned cheekily. "Just exploring all the possibilities."

Lorcan simply smiled back.

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**A/N: Teehee. I absolutely love the ending. I just let my writing muse do most of it, and applied corrections when needed. I've never really done that. I am usually very rigorous about that sort of stuff, so it felt good to let go and let my creative juices flow. :) Also, I have an important note: I have changed the name of this to make it fit to the Fifty Shades challenge. All further drabbles are being written for the Fifty Shades Challenge. Anyways, please review, favorite and follow! I love it when you guys do that. :P**

**THE CONTEST/CHALLENGE CORNER OF AWESOMENESS:**

**[Build-A-Bear Challenge] Other animal: Write about **_**someone unique**_

**[Rock/Paper/Scissors Challenge] Prompt (Dialogue) - **"_**Yeah, right."**_

**[Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge] Six of Diamonds: Write about twins**

**[The Next Gen Competition] Character: Lorcan Scamander; Prompts: Write about your character failing an exam**

**[Disney Character Challenge] ****Periwinkle - Write about the any next gen twins.**

**[Game of Life Challenge] 1 LIFE token; Prompt(s): cheating**

**[Challenge Ticketing Challenge] Challenges: 5**


	7. Happy Birthday, Son

**A/N: I imagined that this would be much better than it actually is. Apologizes for that. The only clarifications I need to make are these two: this is about Colin Creevy, who is a Muggleborn, before his brother was born, with his grandfather. (It doesn't say the age difference in the wikia, and I didn't have the books on me, so I just made up one.) Also, when the grandfather calls Colin "son," he using the term "son" as an affectionate nickname, not literally, you know, his **_**biological **_**son. Other than that, enjoy! :) **

**~Brooke~**

**Disclaimer: JKR is the queen who owns the awesome Harry Potter series. OK? OK.**

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**Happy Birthday, Son**

**~Brooke~**

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"Come here, son," your grandfather mutters, crouching down and holding out his hand for you to grasp - at least when you reach where he is, anyways. "There, there, that's the spirit - oh no, don't go _there; _watch out!"

You, a pudgy five-year old, stumble about, dazed by the sudden change of scenery. This is your first time in the forest near your house. It's your first time in any forest, in fact, and it's not pleasant, not like Grandaddy said it would be. Your vision is obscured almost completely by dark wet bushes. Wet leaves, blackened with soil, are scattered across the ground and make an unpleasant crunching sound when you walk. There is a dark, foreboding sense that wafts with the humid air, almost as if the air itself is alive. You imagine the morning dew, still lingering in the air, forming into a fist that curls around your shoulder. You hiss, then wince, because you can _almost _feel a palm resting on your head, ready to grasp your neck and squeeze. But no - it's just a leaf, which you swiftly brush off, impatient. It flutters to the ground and you step on it several times, making a loud crackling noise. Once he was sure that it was safely destroyed and unlikely of martinizing into a hand, you troop on, keeping your gaze firmly on the ground.

You think longingly of your own cozy home. There would probably be a fire going up - a nice, warm fire with faded hues of orange and red - and you would be right next to it, sprawled lazily across the oriental rug, pushing your little wooden toy car back and forth. The warmth, radiating from the flickering flames, would tickle your skin and seep into your bones, wrapping you in a blanket of fiery flames.

Still entwined in warm, comforting imagery, you fail to notice a large tree branch in your path. Your foot catches on it and you cry out, desperately whirling your arms about like a windmill in a feeble attempt to regain your balance, and sigh in relief when you fall into your grandfather's warm arms, your head buried in his dark green sweater. His scent surrounds you and you snuggle closer to him, imagining that you are sitting with him in his rocking chair back at home.

"Oh, for goodness sakes," he says, his tone only slightly accusing. He pats your back. "You know it's not that scary."

"But, Grandaddy, the monsters!" you tell him desperately. He doesn't understand. How could he understand? Maybe, you think, and this thought is even more terrifying than the thought of a moist fist on your shoulder, he can't understand, because he is older than you and wiser than you and simply not as understanding and caring as he claims he is. Maybe is he. Maybe he isn't.

"Yes, son, the monsters. But the monsters won't harm you - not when I'm here," he comforts, and somehow, the fact that he actually _believes _you makes you feel so much better.

Filled with a sudden burst of courage, you rush ahead of him on unsteady legs, occasionally stumbling a bit, but never completely losing your balance. "Hey, son!" calls your grandfather, who is a few paces behind you, hobbling along. "Wait for your old man, will you?" Huffing, he comes to a stop next to you, slipping his arms around your tiny shoulders. "Right in front of you," he tells you, his voice turning serious, "is a miracle almost unfit for toddler eyes. Not your eyes, though," he assures you.

You glance in front of you, raise your eyebrows, and look up at him.

He sighs. "Well, there isn't - oh, let me show you." Impatiently, he strides to a spot a few meters away from you, where there is a curtain of moss hanging from a drooping branch. Through the soaked strings of moss, you can see rays of brilliant white sunlight peering out from between them. "This" - he rips away the moss - "is why I took you here."

You are hit by blinding light; you shield your eyes, and slowly pull away your hands from your face.

It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you gasp, amazed, at the sight before you.

Birds of blue and white flutter around the sky lazily. Beautiful butterflies, sporting many intricate designs and a variety of different colors, trail after them, some of them landing on flowers that are scattered throughout the vicinity. The grass is chartreuse, dotted with shamrocks and dandelions and other flowers. You bend down, lightly brushing the grass - it is soft to the touch - and finger a dandelion between your fingers, mesmerized as you watch the wind blow away the dandelion seeds high into the air and out of sight.

In the very center of the marsh there is a oval shaped lake. Its blue, sparkling surface shimmers under the sun, its pristine surface only disturbed by small ripples from the breeze, which look like folds in a blanket. A cluster of reeds is nestled at the corner of the lake, towering over the water, where the dragonflies fly, circling them.

You turn, eyes wide with astonishment, to your grandfather, craning your neck to look at him. "Grandpa?"

He smiles down at you, the corners of his mouth crinkling and his sky blue eyes twinkling. "Happy birthday, son."

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**A/N: This one was a bit hard to get out on the screen. I've been having a bit of a writer's block lately, so...yeah. Hope you liked it. **

**Written for...**

**Little Leagues Quidditch (Gryffindor): **

**Round 1**

**Position: Keeper**

**Assignment: Write about a cross-generation friendship. **

**Word Count: 912**


	8. The Tree House

**A/N: I hope you like this one! Not my best by far, but I loved writing it. Somehow, in my mind's eye, it was much, much better...oh well. **

**xXBrookeXx**

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**The Tree House**

_**by Brooke**_

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"Remind me why exactly are we doing this?" said Dennis.

The two Creevey brothers had been working for months on end - from the beginning of October to late May, as of now - on their newest project: their tree house. Nestled high within the leafy, gnarled branches of the "Creevey Family's Great Sequoia That All Others Will Look Upon In Envy," as dubbed by Mr. Creevey, the project had been the pride and joy of the Creevey brothers, as well as a ticket to major bragging rights. However, they often argued about the construction of the treehouse, such as what type of wood they would use for the railings, the type of roof they would have, and so on. As of late, the brothers had been debating whether to move on already and start painting the treehouse (a whole other issue that they hadn't even begin to discuss), as they had already finished building the actual thing, which was Dennis' logic, or replacing the floor with better quality wood that had recently become available to them due to a very generous customer at their father's woodshop - it only took one bad incident with the flooring to convince Colin that this was, indeed, a wise decision - which was what Colin wanted to do. By a stroke of luck, Colin's birthday just happened to fall on the day that the argument arose. Plus, he was older than Dennis. Older sibling superiority would have won anyways, he thought smugly. So ha.

"It's my eleventh birthday," Colin told him rather snootily, echoing his earlier thoughts. He spared only a brief glance at Dennis before continuing to bang away at a nail. He could feel his brother's eyes boring holes into his back, so made sure to hit the nail _extra _hard, just to show him that he could. After all, he was now a strong, able 11 year old, was he not? He grinned. Eleven. It marked the beginning of a new era - no, a new age, and quite literally so. Colin chuckled at this, and brought his attention back to hammer-hitting. He frowned when he accidently hit his hammer at the edge of his precious wood, angling the hammer in such a way that the head of the nail scratched it ever-so slightly.

The scratch barely grazed the surface - and the fact that Colin had been hitting as hard as he could muster with intents of impressing his brother with his new eleven year old brawn certainly spoke for the quality of the wood - but it was there, a dent that was about a centimeter in width but ugly nonetheless. Colin glared at it, willing that _stupid _dent to just _go away. _He hated that dent! How dare it be there, so taunting and mocking in its existence!

Except, it wasn't there. Colin stared at the shiny pristine surface of the wood. He blinked furiously, even going as far as to scrub at his eyes with his sleeve, but there was nothing except perfection that shone back up at him. Colin's eyes lingered on the space where the dent _should've _been, but for some unknown reason, wasn't, before drifting away. It wasn't as if strange happenings such as this weren't common; he had even told his mother and father about events such as these before, to which his parents would roll their eyes and tell him he was just imagining things. Dennis understood, though. This was somewhat comforting - it was a reassurance that he was not, in fact, crazy.

Well, thought Colin dryly, he shouldn't be setting his standards for sanity on his possibly insane brother.

Sighing, Colin turned around to face his brother, who was several meters away, nose buried in a book. "Dennis! The axe, please!"

Dennis folded his arms, his expression petulant. "_Fine. _But _why _do I have to be your servant?"

"Because," replied Colin loftily, "It's my eleventh birthday. Now, the axe, if you will." Colin motioned for Dennis to come to him.

Rolling his eyes, Dennis hefted the axe over his shoulder and trudged over to him. (Colin privately thought that he looked rather comical with that enormous axe slung over his thin shoulders.) "You're just having fun with this, aren't you?"

_Yes. Yes, I am. _"The axe, youngling."

Dennis looked amused. "_Youngling?" _

"Should I remind you that I'm _eleven - "_

"Yeah, yeah." Dennis waved a hand. "Whatever." He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _big head _under his breath. Colin tactfully ignored him and tried to pluck the axe away from Dennis, but he was clearly not stronger than he was yesterday. He succeeded in half picking it up, the heavy metal blade turned away from him, causing him to lose his balance. He tried desperately to regain his balance, but to no avail. He crashed through the frail wood (he still had some replacing to do) and fell, screaming at the top of his lungs.

The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he lay on the ground, head tilted up, leaves blurring in his vision. Distantly, like he was underwater, he heard a shrill scream, and for a moment, he thought that the scream was his own. But he found out otherwise when he felt himself being lifted up by two soft arms.

"Colin!" cried his mother, gathering him into a giant bear hug."I was so worried! Oh, God...I knew it was a bad idea to let you two build that tree house." She hugged him tighter, which only succeeded in crushing his ribs even more. (He had a feeling that his sides would be bruised the next day.)

"Can't...breathe…" he choked out. His mother immediately let him go, surveying his rumpled appearance.

"God!" she said again. "You look horrible!" She peered at him with creased eyebrows.

"Thanks, mum," he said flatly.

She ignored him. "We still need to get you fixed up and presentable for that old professor who wants to see you!"

Colin was confused. "Old professor? But...my birthday cake!" he protested as he mother began to lead him away into the house. "Don't I get my birthday cake? Or my presents?"

Meanwhile, Dennis' was watching this all from the treehouse, looking thoroughly amused. He glared at the large gaping hole for a few moments before it disappeared, leaving smooth, albeit bad quality, undamaged wood in its place, then took out his bucket of blue paint and set to work.

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**A/N: This was written for the following competitions: **

**Little Leagues: Position, Keeper ; Word Count, 1128 ; Team, Gryffindor ; Round, 2 ; Prompt, Surprise (forbidden) **

**The Harry Potter Day Competition: Category, Trio Era**

_**REVIEW! :D**_


	9. Lover's Night

**Lover's Night **

by Brooke

**_Roger Davies sneaks out at night to woe Fleur, but there are many obstacles on the journey to his silver-haired goddess._**

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You check your reflection in the floor length mirror - thank goodness for the Prefect's Bathroom - nervously adjusting your tie and tugging at your handcuffs. You spray a bit more peppermint cologne on yourself - you spent about 20 minutes deciding whether to use butter pecan cologne (courtesy of Honeydukes) or peppermint, and finally decided on peppermint after inconspicuously consulting his mates - and tuck the cologne bottles in the pocket of your robes. Your outfit is bordering on immaculate (Ravenclaws are Ravenclaws, after all) and you are _pretty _sure that you have everything that you need for the night (wand, bouquet of flowers, picnic basket…), but there's still a little knot of worry in your stomach, and the hypotheticals are still fluttering in your head like butterflies, demanding that their presence be known. _What if she thinks I'm not genuine? What if she doesn't like the flowers? What if she hates the food? What if she thinks I'm a bad kisser? _With a face like that, she probably has had loads more experience than you. People like you are probably _nothing _compared to Fleur.

The thought suddenly makes you feel very, very small, and another hypothetical rises, unbidden, in his mind.

_What if she's just leading you on?_

_No, she wouldn't do that. _

_Why? Why not?_

_Because it's not _her.

_But you don't even know what she's like. Plus, she's way out of your league. _

You gulp, brushing all the negative thoughts from his mind. You even dust off your shoulders for an added effect - Fleur tends to do that to people, make them feel small - and somehow, the overly childish gesture restores your sense of ease-or whatever sense of ease you once had. _Act cool. Aloof. Fleur'll like that. _

There is a large bronze clock on the back wall of the bathroom, and you glance up at it right now. It's 11:40-you promised her that you would be at the Astronomy Tower at midnight. 20 minutes is plenty time, but one could never be too sure. Scooping the bouquet of flowers into one arm and holding the basket with the free hand, you head out of the Prefect's bathroom, muttering a quick _Lumos _as you step out.

The hallway is dark and isolated, but there is a warning lingering in the air-you can feel it in your bones. So you tread quietly, thankful for your decision to wear slippers.

But even with the advantage of soft padding, it feels like the sound of your feet against the floor is magnified hundred times in the vast empty hall. Or maybe it's just you and your paranoia. You can't really be sure, since paranoia is practically your second nature.

You turn a corner into a particularly long and straight hallway - quite unusual in the jumbled castle of Hogwarts - allowing you time to wallow with your thoughts. With nothing to keep you company but the occasional creak that would always manage to make you let out a high-pitched squeak whenever it reaches your high-frequency tuned ears (yet another feature that feeds your paranoia), the hypotheticals and unwanted thoughts start to crawl in. They make you uncomfortable and worried, so you decide to set on finding the nearest clock - there aren't many in Hogwarts (the ones in the classrooms are enchanted to only work during the day) and you only know of four different locations with clocks: the Prefects bathroom, the library, the Trophy Room, and the Common Room. You know from your frequent walks around the castle that the Trophy Room is closer to where you are now, and is also on the way to the Astronomy Tower, which is a plus. You want to arrive at just the right moment: not a second too soon, not a second too late.

It has to be perfect.

Still deep in thought, you walk into the Trophy Room, gently closing the door behind you. You hold your wand high above your head, and wince as the illumination from your wand sends white light flying in all directions, including yours. You raise your arms to protect yourself from the gleam of the trophies, holding your wand higher so that you can see the clock, which is near the ceiling, but in the process, you manage to knock your own wand out of your hand. You lunge down to catch it, and your attempts are not only unsuccessful, but they also cause you to drop your picnic basket. It spills open, revealing treacle tarts, apple pies, sandwiches, pumpkin juice and other goods inside. You hurry to stuff all the food back in, but then you hear something that makes you freeze mid-action.

Footsteps. Then…

"STUDENTS OUT PAST CURFEW!"

Filch. _Dammit. _

You hit yourself on the head for being so stupid and clumsy, then realize you don't have time for that - the footsteps are growing more hurried and louder. You wildly stuff some more of the fallen food into your overflowing picnic basket (you hadn't had time to put it in properly so that it would actually fit) and hurry behind a large display case, which has a good view of the rest of the Trophy Room. You just have enough time to whisper _Nox _before the doors burst open, revealing a crazed Filch and a slightly frazzled Ms. Norris.

"Oh, stuuuuuudents out past curfew," he cackles, holding up an old-fashioned gas lamp. "Students will get in trouble. Oh, student!" he sings. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, or Ms. Norris will catch you and I'll take you to Dumbledore!" he calls out gleefully. As if on cue, Filch pats Ms. Norris on the head, hands her some catnip, and gives her a little push. "Meow if you see the student," he tells her. She starts to slink towards you, and you cower against the wall in a vain attempt to increase the distance between you and Ms. Norris. To your surprise, she pauses when she is a few feet from you. She starts to prod the picnic basket experimentally.

Laughing quietly to yourself, you take out a treacle tar and offer half to the cat. "No telling Filch, OK?" you tell Ms. Norris.

Ms. Norris only stares impassively at you.

The longer she stares, the more anxious you become. _What if the cat doesn't like tarts? What if it's just going to eat the tart and go tell Filch? _You smack yourself on the head. Stupid hypotheticals.

You wait with bated breath as the cat opens its jaws wide, saliva dripping from its sharp incisors, and...sinks its teeth into the tart.

You let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you!" you say loudly. "Good cat." You pet Ms. Norris, who purrs contentedly. "Good…"

"STUDENT OUT PAST CURFEW!" screeches a voice from behind you. You whip around to see Filch staring at him with a stricken, but delighted, expression. "Oh, you'll get punished, all right," murmurs Filch to himself. "Dumbledore won't be letting any of you brats off the hook _again!" _he said delightedly. "AND DON'T PET MY CAT!" he adds suddenly, lunging for you.

You use this moment to escape. You dodge his outstretched hands, quickly ducking underneath his body and race out the door. You hear Filch crash into something and start to curse very loudly, and you are almost positive you can hear a Hufflepuff complaining about the noise through the walls - well, at least you think it's a Hufflepuff. After all, no other person would complain by saying "Oh, dear me! I do hope Filch is alright! I am quite sleepy, though, and he was interrupting my sleep."

You race down the hall, preparing to turn the corner any minute now. Once you've rounded the corner, you start up the seemingly endless staircase that leads to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Filch is close behind by only one flight of stairs. Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you zoom up the stairs, desperate not to become the first wizard mince pie.

You allow yourself to slow down when you hear Filch grumbling and telling himself to just sleep it off. By then, you are on the last flight of stairs. As you jog lightly up the stairs, you realize that you never actually checked the time.

When you finally reach the top, you hunch down, hands on kneecaps, panting heavily. When you finally look up, you see Fleur.

Her hands are on her hips, her stance languid. Her lips are twisted up in half-amused, half-bored smile (either way is beautiful). She is wearing a long white chiffon that clings to her every curve and that is finished off with a golden belt imprinted with a simple olive leaf design. Her blue eyes are twinkling with mirth, which is what really gives away the fact that she is close to laughter. But all she says is, "You're late."

You stand up slowly. "I know." She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, tossing her sparkling silvery-gold tresses over her shoulder. "I - I apologize," you add quickly, wanting to please her.

She smiles thinly at you. "Wonzerful."

They stay in awkward silence for several tense seconds before you break it. "I - er, brought the picnic basket," you say lamely.

"Wonzerful," she says, and doesn't move to help. The hypotheticals start to race across your mind as you scurry to set up the picnic blanket. When you are finished, she daintily sits on the edge of the blanket. You hand her a treacle tart, and she bites into it, chewing thoughtfully, before taking another bite. You let out a sigh of relief. "Zo," she starts, after another long period of awkward silence, "why 'ere you zate?"

You sigh. "It's a long story…"

She smiles. A real, genuine smile, not just a smug grin or an alluring smirk. A smile. "'Zee 'ave all ze time in da world."

"Okay…" you say. "But it will be long," you add.

"Just zay it."

"But - "

"Please?" She looks up at him with wide, blue eyes.

You sigh in defeat.

And nod.

* * *

**A/N: I know this wasn't exactly Brooke at her best, but could you still review? :) Oh, also, the challenge info may be updated within the next 24 hours, so be aware of that. :) **

**Now...BROOKE OUT! :3**

* * *

**Written for…**

**QUIDDITCH - LITTLE LEAGUES **

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**Position: Keeper**

**Prompt: Suspense**

**WC: 1696**

**Team: Gryffindor **

**JUNE BONUS! **

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**Prompts used: 2 **

**Prompts: Butter, Call**

**CHALLENGE TICKETING CHALLENGE **

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**Challenges: 2 **

**Points: 2**


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